


Home For Christmas

by xxSparksxx



Category: Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 06:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5573539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxSparksxx/pseuds/xxSparksxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ross Poldark returns to Nampara just in time for Christmas, to the delight of his wife and children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: This is fluff. Pure unadulterated fluff. There are spoilers for later Poldark books – you’re safe if you’ve read up to The Angry Tide – but there is only _one_ specific spoiler, everything else is vague allusion, blink and you’ll miss it. The spoiler is around a position that Ross holds from The Angry Tide onwards. 
> 
> Beta’d by rainpuddle13.

It had been a tedious journey home from London. Ross was four days late, held up by opposing winds and outright storms, and he was weary as he made his way up the track towards Nampara. It had been a long few months at Westminster, with very little of interest to Ross to fill the time between the debates that he was invested in. The votes that he had gone for had come and gone, and he had only been persuaded to stay in London for as long as he had by his friend, George Canning, who had enlisted his help in a further vote on the sixteenth. That done, Ross had endeavoured to leave London as quickly as possible.

Now it was Christmas Eve. Ross had arrived in Cornwall yesterday, slept the night in an inn because it had been too late to hire a horse, and now at last he was reaching Nampara. He supposed that Demelza had almost given up hope of him arriving in time for Christmas; he had feared the same himself, trapped in a small, dreary cabin for three days of wind and rain. But he was here, and in a few minutes he would be in the house, warming himself by the fire and surrounded by his loving family.

He rode his horse straight around to the stables, where John Gimlett met him.

“We’d about given you up, sir,” said the amiable, faithful servant. “Missus is in the kitchen with the young’uns. Do ee need a hand down, sir?” Ross dismounted easily, and left that as his answer. Gimlett nodded affably and took the horse’s reins. Ross retrieved his saddlebag – for there was a gift within, one that he was sure would be very welcome – and, pulling off his gloves as he went, headed for the kitchen door rather than the front door. 

He heard the children even before he opened the door, shrieks of childish laughter coming through the thick wood to greet him. Ross could not hear Demelza, but Jeremy and Clowance were loud and full of excitement. No doubt they had been working themselves up into a fever pitch over the past few days. His own continued absence had perhaps not helped – not that they usually needed much excuse. Ross could picture them waiting, with Demelza assuring them that he would be here for Christmas, and the children growing more and more excited with every hour.

Ross lifted the latch and eased the door open, just wide enough to peer into the kitchen. The hinges, well-oiled, did not squeak, and none of the occupants seemed to notice the slight draught that blew in. The kitchen was full of light and warmth, and the air was filled with the scent of spices – ginger, almond, saffron. Demelza had been busy; the kitchen table was covered with cakes and sweet pies and biscuits, enough to satisfy an army of children. Ross’s stomach growled, but such was the commotion in the kitchen that it went unnoticed. It had been a long ride, and a cold one, and last night at the inn he had thought longingly of Demelza’s good cooking. 

Demelza herself, his beloved wife, the fulcrum around which all else revolved, was standing at the stove. She was wearing a particular green dress that Ross always thought brought out all the colour of her hair and eyes and skin. Unobserved, Ross could drink in the sight of her at his leisure, without her blushes to stop him, or the children to distract his attention. Of all the things he missed when he was away – his lands, his home, his children – Demelza was the most missed, the most longed for. Things had not always been easy between them, and there had still been occasions, over the past few years, where he sensed a distance between them. But the distance decreased as time went on. This summer had passed as almost happily and lovingly as their first few summers together, a happiness only deepened by the addition of their two children. Ross had felt them to be, at last, as recovered from their troubles as he could wish. When they had parted last, some four months ago, Ross had loved her as much as ever and, happily, had known that she loved him as much in return. No others, living or dead, stood between them. All the ghosts had finally been put to rest.

Beside Demelza were the two children, a dark head next to a fair one. Clowance knelt on a chair, but Jeremy was tall enough to manage without. He was stirring something in a pot on the stove; apparently he was not stirring fast enough, for Clowance was urging him to go quicker. 

“No, no,” Demelza said, putting a hand on Clowance’s shoulder. “If you go too quick, it’ll leap out of the pan and scald you, and you don’t want that, do you? Just be patient, Clowance. Jeremy, my lover, is your arm tired yet?”

“No, Mama,” said Jeremy. The whole of his attention seemed fixed upon his task. He held the spoon with both hands grasped around the handle, so his arms and shoulders were involved with stirring. It was an amusing sight, though Ross noted with some dismay that Jeremy had grown again. Every time he came home there was some change to see. He didn’t trouble himself overmuch about it, for after all it was his choice to continue to be a Member of Parliament, but there was always a slight pang of regret when he arrived at Nampara to find Jeremy had grown, or Clowance had lost the last of her baby teeth.

“I don’t want Jeremy to hurt,” said Clowance, with a hint of a pout in her voice, “but I want it to be ready _soon_ , Mama.” 

“And so it will be, my darling. Have patience,” said Demelza. Though her face was turned away from Ross, he could hear a smile in her voice. “It won’t be long now,” she added. “Just keep stirring, Jeremy.”

Clowance wriggled on her chair and then, because she wriggled so much that she twisted right around, she saw Ross. 

“Papa!” she shrieked, at a pitch that seemed designed to hurt her listeners’ ears. For a moment all was confusion. Ross opened the door wider and put down his saddlebag just in time to catch Clowance, who had launched herself off the chair and towards him. She was too heavy to lift often, but she flew into his arms and he caught her, hugging her tight and letting her legs dangle against his shins. At the same time, Jeremy gave an excited whoop and abandoned his task, taking the spoon with him as he whirled around and came to join the embrace. His spoon hit Ross on the chin, leaving a sticky deposit. Demelza made an exclamation scarcely more quiet than those of her children, but she did not join Jeremy and Clowance in swamping their father; instead she snatched up another spoon and took over the job of stirring the mixture in the pan.

“Papa, Papa, we’ve been waiting for you for _days_!” Clowance said to him. “An’ Jeremy said that you’d miss Christmas, but Mama said you’d be here because you promised, an’ –,”

“I didn’t think you _wanted_ to miss Christmas,” Jeremy complained, speaking over his sister, “only I thought the boat might have been slow, and then it wouldn’t have been your fault, Papa, would it?”

“ – so Mama said we might make sweets while we waited an’ then you came like – like magic!” Clowance concluded triumphantly. 

“Very like,” Ross agreed. “Off now, miss, you’re too big for me to be heaving about like this. Jeremy, I am _not_ a horse to be spurred to action by a whipping, thank you – what is this on my chin?”

“’Tis a recipe that Caroline gave me,” said Demelza, still stirring but now looking at him. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair coming loose from its ties, and her eyes sparkled at him with happiness. “Scotch tablet. I tested it last month and it was all gone within a day. Two little scavengers got at it.”

“And were duly punished, I hope,” said Ross. “Is it reason enough to deny me my welcome?” He shed the children at last, crossed the kitchen, and put his hands at her waist. Demelza was smiling brilliantly, warmth and joy written across her face, but she did not stop stirring, even when he pressed a kiss to her lips.

“It must be constantly stirred,” she explained. “Jeremy, my lover, come here and take over so I can greet your Papa properly – oh, here’s Jane. Will you finish this, Jane? As you can see, our Christmas present has arrived at last.”

“Yes’m,” said Jane Gimlett, as steady as her husband, and as able to greet the unexpected with aplomb. “Welcome home, sir.”

“Thank you,” said Ross, releasing Demelza’s waist and stepping aside to give Mrs Gimlett access to the stove. Clowance was at his side again, insinuating her little hand into his coat pocket in search of treats and presents. Jeremy was not far behind her, though he was more restrained, not actually pawing Ross as his younger sister was. Ross laughed at her, and then lifted her up into his arms again. “Impudence,” he told her. “Perhaps I didn’t bring you anything this time.”

“Oh, Papa!”

“Come into the parlour,” said Demelza, putting an arm across Jeremy’s shoulders to steer him away. “There’s a fire going, and mulled wine. And dinner will be ready soon.” She met Ross’s eyes and they spoke to each other without words. They were, for a moment, in a world apart, a world of their own, where Jeremy and Clowance did not exist. Then Clowance wrapped her arms around Ross’s neck and rested her head on his shoulder, bringing him back to the present. He gestured for Demelza to lead the way and told Jeremy to bring his saddlebag. 

In a few minutes he was settled in his chair beside the fire, with Demelza in her own chair opposite him. His pipe was in his hand and there was glass of mulled wine on the table beside him. Jeremy sat on a stool in front of the fire, and Clowance was sitting on the floor, leaning against Ross’s knee. Ross’s saddlebag was nearby, and it was suspiciously silent. Ross hoped his passenger hadn’t curled up and died of fright. The thing had cried most of the way from Truro to Sawle, and quieted only when Ross was within a few miles of home. 

“I spent three days in a pokey little cabin waiting for the wind to blow itself out,” he said to Demelza. “Then we docked last night, but it was too late to hire a horse. Perhaps I should have taken the coach instead, but the roads aren’t up to much at this time of year.”

“I’m just glad you made it home in time,” said Demelza. “I was afeared there might have been a riot if you hadn’t.”

“Oh, indeed?” Ross laughed at the way the two children looked at him, full of eagerness and delight, their impatience scarcely concealed. Though neither of them spoke, Ross knew they were waiting for him to be settled enough to empty his pockets for them. Most of the things he had brought would wait until tomorrow, but one thing would not. “Is Mama exaggerating?” he asked Clowance, ruffling her hair with his free hand. 

Clowance bit her thumb for a moment, and then asked: “What’s exaggerating?”

“It means making something seem bigger or more important than it really is,” Ross explained. “I might say that Jeremy has grown six inches since I left, but I would be exaggerating.”

“You certainly would!” Demelza said laughingly. “An inch, if that.”

“My feet have grown most,” said Jeremy, lifting a foot to show Ross. “Mama had to get me new shoes again.” His shoes seemed identical to those he had worn when Ross had left for London, but Ross duly inspected the shoes and agreed that Jeremy’s feet had indeed grown. All the while he was aware of Demelza’s gaze fixed upon him, as if she felt, as he had earlier, that she wanted to look her fill of him. He was contented to let her look. He would do more than look, later on. As soon as the children were out of the room, in fact, he would give her a proper greeting. The brief, chaste kiss in the kitchen had been insufficient.

The occupant of Ross’s saddlebag miaowed, long and loud, as if it had just realised that there was still life beyond its current confines. Jeremy and Clowance fell silent, eyes wide and heads cocked, as if they themselves were cats and had caught the scent of a bird or a mouse. Ross hid his smile behind his pipe. 

“A cat!” Demelza exclaimed. “Where on earth – _Ross_ , you’ve not brought a cat in your saddlebag?”

“Only a very small one,” said Ross, as innocently as he was able. Demelza gave him a look, amused and chastising all at once. Ross let his smile widen. “Go on, Clowance,” he said. “Let it out.” 

Clowance needed no further urging. She scrambled across the floor to the saddlebag, nearly rending her dress in the process. Demelza uttered a protest, but it went unheeded; Clowance was far more interested in unfastening the saddlebag. Jeremy joined her, his hands more nimble than hers with the old buckles and the aged leather, and together they succeeded in opening the bag. Ross smoked his pipe and watched, amused, as a small tortoiseshell kitten tumbled out onto the floor. It seemed quite stunned, either from its journey or its new surroundings, and for a moment it just sat there, looking up at Clowance and Jeremy, who stared back in silent delight.

“Oh,” Clowance breathed at last. “Oh, it’s so _little_!”

Jeremy held out a hand to it, and let the kitten take its own time to sniff the proffered hand and decide that it was safe. Ross spared a moment to be pleased with Jeremy’s approach – he himself would not have been so careful with a kitten or puppy, at Jeremy’s age – and then he found himself with a lapful of his daughter.

“It’s wonderful!” Clowance said, wrapping her chubby arms around Ross’s neck and giving him a wet kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Papa!” Ross accepted the kiss and the embrace without mentioning how her knee dug into him uncomfortably. He resettled her a little, and caught Demelza’s amused glance. 

“Did you bring it from London?” Jeremy asked. The little kitten had allowed itself to be picked up and held in Jeremy’s lap, and was now purring loudly at the boy’s gentle petting. “Did you keep it in your saddlebag all the way from London, Papa?”

“I hope not,” Demelza said, before Ross could speak. “His saddlebag would be in a sorry state if he had.” Jeremy laughed. The kitten, alarmed by the noise and by the upheaval of the legs on which it had been resting, leaped off Jeremy’s lap and sought safety underneath Demelza’s skirt. Clearly it was a sensible kitten, for Demelza meant safety and security, comfort and love, for Ross and for the children, and for every household pet they had ever had, cats or dogs alike. 

“Go and ask Mrs Gimlett for a saucer of milk, please, Clowance,” said Demelza, as she bent over to carefully pull the kitten’s claws from her skirts. Clowance rose and set off at a rapid pace. Ross hoped she would return more slowly, or better yet, ask Mrs Gimlett to carry the saucer in.

By now Demelza had the kitten in her lap. It sat on her knee, balancing itself carefully without resorting to claws in her skirt. Demelza let it sniff her hand, and then smiled when the kitten pushed its head against the hand, demanding petting. 

“Is it a boy or a girl?” she asked Ross, her voice hushed so she would not disturb the cat.

“Female,” said Ross, stretching out his legs so his aching foot was closer to the fire. “And no, Jeremy, she did not come all the way from London. I stayed at an inn last night, and the landlord’s cat had had a litter. This one had been set aside to keep. I persuaded him that it would make a perfect Christmas for two children I happen to know.”

“The poor thing must have been scared half to death, trapped in your bag,” said Demelza, half-reproachfully, but her attention was focused on the little kitten in her lap, so Ross made no retort. She looked beautiful, his Demelza, her hair falling around her face, her mouth curved in a soft smile. It was plain that the kitten pleased her as much as it pleased the children. “Poor thing,” she cooed at it. “Carted about in a saddlebag like a sack of flour.”

“Hardly,” Ross protested. “A sack of flour would have been flung across the back of the saddle.” She lifted her head to look at him, her eyes twinkling and her smile deepening. Ross set aside his pipe for the moment and took up his wine glass. The fire was driving away the chill that set into him on his ride home, and the mulled wine warmed him from the inside. The simple fact of being at home was warming something more ephemeral; home, and the children, and Demelza. He sometimes felt that he valued them the more for being away so much. He would not like to give it up, his parliamentary life – not yet, at any rate – but he could certainly wish that he was able to keep closer to home. He missed Nampara when he was away, the familiar fields and buildings, the mine and the farm. Jeremy and Clowance, so young and full of life and vigour.

And Demelza. He missed Demelza most of all, when he was gone. They exchanged letters, but it was not the same. Perhaps she could come back with him, when he returned to London. He must be there again in February. Perhaps he could enlist Caroline’s help in persuading Demelza to leave home and hearth for a while.

“What shall we call it, Mama?” Jeremy asked, going to sit at his mother’s feet so his head was level with the kitten. “May we call her Delilah?” Ross raised his eyebrows and waited for the explanation that he was sure would follow. Jeremy did not disappoint him. “I read it in the Bible,” he confided to Ross, twisting around to look at his father. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” 

“It’s unique,” Ross said, neither an agreement nor a disagreement. He picked up his pipe again and occupied himself with it to keep from smiling. “But it sounds a little too like ‘Demelza’, don’t you think? Your Mama might end up being mistaken for a cat.”

“Oh, no,” said Jeremy, quite seriously. “We wouldn’t do that.”

“We’ll all decide together, this afternoon,” ruled Demelza. The kitten had curled up in her lap and seemed content to stay there for the present, but the clock on the mantel told that dinner would be served soon, and Ross knew from experience that in a minute or two Demelza would rise to go and check that all was as it should be. 

Clowance returned then, walking much more sedately with a saucer of milk held carefully with both hands. She set it down on the hearth, but looked disappointed to see that the kitten had settled and seemed disinclined to further movement. 

“Isn’t it hungry?” she asked. “ _I’m_ hungry.”

“Goodness, dinner,” said Demelza. “Here, Jeremy, take the kitten and let it have the milk. Clowance, make sure you wash your face, please. Ross, I shan’t be a moment.” The kitten was dislodged into Jeremy’s welcoming hands, then Demelza rose from her chair and hurried from the room.

“Are you hungry too, Papa?” Clowance asked, drifting back to Ross’s side. “It’s rabbit pie. I heard Mama say so.”

“I am always hungry for your mother’s cooking,” said Ross, snuffing out his pipe. Clowance leaned against his legs and gave him a long look. Ross, amused, looked back at her. “Well, have I changed at all?” he inquired. “Or am I still the same Papa?”

“You’re still the same,” said Clowance, smiling at him. “I’ve growed too, Papa,” she told him then. “Just as much as Jeremy.” Ross put his hand on her head, as if to measure her, and solemnly affirmed that she had indeed grown. Clowance beamed her pride. “Mama says Jeremy is a bean sprout,” she said, “but I’ve growed too.”

“Like a weed,” Ross agreed, and chucked her chin. “Go and wash,” he told her. “And ask Mrs Gimlett for a basket for the kitten.” Clowance made a face at him good-humouredly, but she obeyed him with little hesitation, running out of the room to tidy herself up. Ross finished his mulled wine and leaned back in his chair, watching Jeremy watch the kitten as it lapped up the milk. 

“What do you think, Jeremy?” Ross asked after a minute. “Will Feathers disapprove of another cat in the house?”

“Oh, no,” said Jeremy. He was cross-legged on the floor beside the hearth, but he turned his head to answer his father and offered Ross a sweet smile. “Mama always says that Feathers misses Tabitha Bethia. And Garrick, too. Feathers isn’t used to being the only pet.” 

Tabitha Bethia had died several years ago, and Clowance did not remember her at all, but Garrick was a recent loss, and one that Ross knew was felt bitterly by more than just Feathers the cat. He would have liked to bring home a puppy as a Christmas gift for Demelza. But when he’d suggested they find a new dog, before he had gone to London for the autumn, Demelza had refused, unable to contemplate the idea of another dog taking Garrick’s place at Nampara. A kitten was not the same and would do no harm to the tender grief she felt for her beloved canine companion. Demelza liked to have more than one cat about the place, and they were, after all, effective against mice and rats. 

“Is the kitten for Clowance, or Mama, or all of us?” Jeremy asked him then, with an innocent expression that did nothing to conceal the motive of his question. 

“You’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?” Ross retorted, well used to the ways of his children by now. Then, as Jeremy drooped, Ross relented a little. “The kitten is for all of us,” he said. “My case is following me, it should be here well before supper. There may be presents in it, or there may not.” Jeremy grinned broadly, and Ross didn’t bother to hide his answering smile. There were, in fact, a number of gifts in his case. He always brought back something small for Jeremy and Clowance, and often something for Demelza too, but he would freely admit that he had been a little more extravagant this time. It was Christmas, and Wheal Grace continued to do extremely well, and Ross had been taken with the urge to spoil his family a little.

Demelza would scold him for it, no doubt, but he was sure she would be pleased, nonetheless.

“You’d better go and have a wash, Jeremy,” Ross said, after a few moments. The kitten had finished its saucer of milk and had found itself a comfortable spot in front of the fire. Fed and warmed, assured of its security, it turned around three times and then curled up with its tail tucked under its nose. “You’re scarcely more clean than Clowance,” Ross added. 

“Alright,” said Jeremy, as agreeably as could be expected from a boy ten years old. He scrambled to his feet – the kitten opened one eye and then closed it again – and dusted off his trousers before trotting out of the parlour. Ross listened to his footsteps going down the hallway, and then heard a lighter step coming back. Demelza, he guessed. 

A moment later she appeared in the doorway. The light of the fire in the parlour, and the candle lit in the hallway behind, seemed to make her glow. She was as beautiful to him now as she had ever been and, with no children underfoot, he could show her so. Ross held out his hand for her, and Demelza came and let him pull her into his lap.

“Hello, my love,” he said. “Do I have you to myself for a moment?”

“More than a moment,” Demelza promised, and she met him halfway for a proper kiss. It was familiar and full of deep affection, but as ever when Ross returned from an absence, there was another edge to it as well. Reunion and rediscovery, a rekindling of the physical side of their relationship that was necessarily dormant when they were apart. Ross was not a man given to voicing his feelings – a fault that had caused them problems in the past – but he felt a great swell of love and warmth and caring in his heart, and he cupped her face in his hands and tried to convey it.

Demelza kept her face close to his when they parted, their noses brushing together. Her whole face was smiling, her mouth and her eyes and tiny creases at the corners of mouth and eyes both. “I’m glad you’re home,” she said softly. Then her smile widened. “I was in earnest about the riot,” she added. “I’ve had nothing else from them for four days.”

“I’d have beaten them into silence,” said Ross, letting his hands drift down from her face to her neck, her shoulders, down her arms and then onto her hips. 

“Lies, Ross, lies,” Demelza laughed. “You’d no more have done that than I would.” Ross refused to admit it, but Demelza knew him well enough to need no confirmation. They had been married too long, and parents too long, for her to believe him a strict disciplinarian. “I set them running across Hendrawna beach, yesterday, to wear them out,” she told him. “But it didn’t help me for more than an hour or so, and then they were back to leaping about like young dogs.” Ross let one hand wander a little lower than her hip. Demelza arched an eyebrow. “Ross, we’ve not even had dinner yet,” she said.

“Jeremy has grown, and Clowance,” Ross said, squeezing her behind. “I’m only trying to find out if you’ve changed too.”

“Your daughter will be back in here to see the kitten again in less than a minute,” Demelza pointed out, her eyebrow still raised, though Ross was sure she didn’t mean her disapproval. “And I’m quite certain I’ve not changed _there_ , Ross,” she added, as Ross squeezed again.

“I ought to check to be sure.”

“And when Clowance comes in?” Demelza retorted. Ross had no suitable answer, so he kissed her instead, and felt her smile against his mouth. Small footsteps echoed down the hallway towards them, and Ross released Demelza just as Clowance came in, Jeremy on her heels. Clowance had a basket in her hands, lined with a cloth, and she held it up for her parents to see.

“For the kitten,” she said. “I put the cloth in, Mama. Was that right?”

“Very right, Clowance,” Demelza approved, smoothing down her skirts as she lifted herself off Ross’s knee. She glanced at him, a promising kind of glance that he knew well. “Put it on the hearth, and then we’ll all go to dinner. Your Papa is hungry enough to eat a whole pie himself, I do believe.”

Clowance regarded her father with suspicion. “I don’t think you could, Papa,” she said. “It’s a _big_ pie.” Demelza laughed, and so did Jeremy, and after a moment Clowance joined them, realising the joke. Ross stood up and held out a hand for his daughter; she took it, and smiled widely up at him. “You wouldn’t eat it all, anyway,” she confided. “That would be selfish. An’ Mama says we mustn’t be selfish.”

“We must do as Mama says,” said Ross gravely. He was teasing her – or rather, teasing Demelza – but Clowance did not see it. She merely beamed at him and tugged his hand to pull him into motion. “Yes, I’m coming,” he said, and reached out his other hand for Jeremy.

Dinner was a merry affair, full of laughter and talking. The pie was indeed a large one, but the children were as hungry as Ross was, and there was nothing left by the time they had all finished eating. Jeremy and Clowance talked at a rate that belied how much they were consuming, and they talked over each other, both eager to tell Ross all about their doings over the past months. It made for a loud meal, but Ross enjoyed it so much that he didn’t feel the need to reprimand them for it. Demelza took her cue from him and let the children ramble on. Whenever Ross glanced across at her, her eyes were twinkling gaily at him. 

“Am I losing you to the mine this afternoon?” Demelza asked, when all the plates were empty and Jane Gimlett had started to clear them away.

“Yes, unless you need me for something,” said Ross, leaning back in his chair to let Jane take his plate. “Thank you, Jane. Did you want me to stay, my dear? I’d have thought you’d be glad to have me out from under your feet.”

Demelza tilted her head. “I should not like to keep you from the mine,” she remarked, “but I have a deal to do this afternoon, and since you’re home, I did wonder if you’d like to take a good long walk somewhere, it being a mild day. Or a ride, perhaps. Jeremy’s pony needs exercise and Clowance could sit on the pommel of your saddle.” 

“Ah,” said Ross, comprehending. Clowance’s eyes were wide, her lips pressed tightly together, as if to keep herself from demanding to know what things Demelza needed to do that required the absence of her children. Jeremy was fidgeting in his seat; even at a stately ten years of age, he was still highly excited by the secrets that abounded at Christmas. “Well, give me but half an hour to go over to the engine house and then I’ll gladly oblige you.” 

“I can saddle my pony,” Jeremy spoke up. “All by myself, now. I’m big enough.”

“Can you?” Ross smiled. When he had left for London, Jeremy had been able to manage most of the task himself, and what he could not do had been for a lack of practice, not a lack of height. “You must show me. Don’t begin before I get back, or I’ll suspect that Mama or Gimlett has helped you.”

“In the meantime,” said Demelza, before Jeremy could do more than open his mouth to begin a protest, “you may both play with the new kitten. You might introduce her to Feathers, Jeremy. Clowance, be sure you don’t tease.”

“I wouldn’t, Mama,” said Clowance, full of indignation at the suggestion. Ross caught Demelza’s eye, shared a smile with her, and then left the table with the promise to be back soon.

* * *

Even after some thirteen years of marriage, Demelza always felt a slight trepidation on Christmas Eve when the carollers were expected. 

There was no reason for it. She had, for over a decade, greeted the village people when they came singing carols, and offered them a drink, a bite to eat, and a handful of coins. Sometimes Ross had been with her, and sometimes he had not, but either way, Demelza knew she had always conducted herself as she should, and if her nerves had ever shown, none of the carollers had ever let her know that they saw it. They no doubt remembered that she was a miner’s daughter, brought up in poverty and squalor – memories were long, and her marriage had been more than a seven days’ wonder – but she was Mrs Poldark too, mistress of Nampara, wife of Ross Poldark, MP and owner of one of the most prosperous mines in the district.

Still, every year when it was over she breathed a sigh of relief. Today was no different, though Ross was beside her. 

“Some things I’ll never get comfortable with, not in thirty years,” she said, slipping her arm through his as they stood at the door waving away the carol-singers. Jeremy and Clowance were hopping about the garden as if somebody had put hot coals beneath their feet, worked up into even greater heights of excitement by the carols and the general good-feeling of those who had sung them. 

“Do you still get nervous about this?” Ross asked, incredulity obvious in his tone. Demelza elbowed him gently.

“Some things,” she said, “don’t get done often enough to be used to them. But if you don’t see it, I cannot think anybody else does. So I’ll nurse my little anxiety in peace, thank you kindly.” Ross chuckled, but he turned his head and brushed a kiss against her cheek. Demelza smiled, but kept her eyes on her children as they frolicked in the darkness, in and out of the patches of light that shone through the windows of the house. She would call them in presently, but for now she would let them be. It was mild – winter never truly seemed to start in Cornwall until mid-January – and if they wore themselves out more, then that just meant they would sleep well and hopefully be a little calmer on the morrow.

“Do you truly get anxious, still?” Ross asked after a moment, his head still close to hers. “You hide it well.”

“It’s a foolish thing, I know,” said Demelza. “And no reason for it. But I’m not a reasoning person, Ross, you know that.” Logic and common sense were all very well, but she knew what she felt, and most often she acted upon her feelings rather than on any reasoned thinking. 

“You’re not a foolish one, either,” he said. Demelza thought that there was a compliment there somewhere, and she chose to accept it as so. She turned her face to his and kissed him. In the garden, Clowance made a particularly shrill noise. Ross winced, and Demelza huffed a laugh.

“She has a deal of energy,” she excused. “But you’ve worn her out some. She’ll be asleep in a few hours, and then you’ll have all the peace and quiet you want.”

“Good,” said Ross, but Demelza knew he didn’t really mean it. He loved their children as much as she did. Besides, Clowance came by her energy honestly; Demelza and Ross were both active people, and it would have been surprising if at least one of their children was not the same. Jeremy was different. He was quieter and more inwards-looking, prone to thinking a thing over and then coming out with some strange remark. He had energy enough, but not like Clowance, who was happiest in motion. 

Demelza detached herself from Ross and called the children inside. There was little she had to do now before supper – Jeremy and Clowance’s first, theirs a little later – so she suggested that they make their own carolling party in the parlour. She could play all of the favourite carols easily, and some of the less favoured songs with only a little trouble, and with Ross home she felt in the mood to play and to sing.

“I must unpack first, but then I’ll join you,” said Ross, ushering the children ahead of him into the parlour. His case had arrived while he had been out riding, and the errand boy who had brought it had taken the hired horse back to Truro. Gimlett had taken it upstairs, and Demelza had intended to unpack it before Ross returned with Jeremy and Clowance, but her time had been eaten up with a myriad of tasks that were easier done without children underfoot. 

“Oh, leave it for later,” she said coaxingly. “I can do it after supper, and in half the time.”

“No, indeed,” said Ross, with an infuriatingly smug glance at her. “I’ll do it myself, else you’ll ruin your surprise.” He looked pleased with himself, a condition so rare that for a moment Demelza just looked at him and soaked it in. She felt full of love for him, as she not infrequently did when she looked at her husband. He always brought gifts from London for the children, but Demelza never expected anything for herself and was always surprised when he produced something for her. She was conscious that he liked to indulge his whim towards extravagance, now that he had the money to do so, and that a surprise from him for Christmas could be anything from some new sheet music to a fine new necklace or brooch. Demelza was always pleased with his gifts, for they were thoughtful and made her feel cherished, but the best gift of all was to have him here. Home at last, in time for Christmas, loving her and loved in return. It had not always been so.

Perhaps Ross saw some of her thoughts and feelings, for he drew close to her again and pressed a kiss to her mouth. Demelza took his hand and squeezed it, feeling too full of emotion to try to put it into words. But Ross understood, and did not ask her to try. 

“I won’t be long,” he said. “Begin without me. If I leave the door open I will hear you from upstairs.”

Demelza went into the parlour, where Jeremy had opened the spinet and Clowance was kneeling beside the hearth playing with the new kitten. It was warm in the parlour, almost too much so after standing at the front door for so long, and the room was full of the scents of the greenery that Demelza had found to decorate the house. She surveyed the room happily, pleased with how it looked. Tidy, for once, and cosy and comfortable. The curtains were drawn, there was a bowl of nuts on the table, the fire was a good blaze, and the candles all around shone merrily. In her mending basket, beside her rocking chair, two clean stockings were ready to be hung from the mantelpiece. That would wait for later; she would let Jeremy and Clowance hang them up just before they went to bed. 

And Ross was upstairs, and would join them soon. All Demelza’s happiness and pleasure seemed a little deeper, a little brighter, when Ross was at home. He was who he was, and she would never deny him that – she was _proud_ of his parliamentary activities – but she missed him when he was gone, and was always glad and grateful to have him home safe again.

“What shall it be first, Jeremy?” she asked her son, as she went to sit at the spinet. “You may choose. And then Clowance next, and if Papa is down after that, he may have third choice.”

“The Wassail song, please,” said Jeremy, going to stand at one end of the spinet. “Come on, Clowance,” he added, “come and sing. Leave the kitten alone, it won’t run away.” Privately, Demelza rather thought that the kitten _might_ run away, once they started singing, but it couldn’t run far. 

“I’ll take it to the kitchen first,” said Clowance. “Mrs Gimlett will look after it, won’t she, Mama?” She put the kitten into its basket and carefully lifted it up. The kitten mewed furiously as Clowance carried it from the room, the sounds growing fainter as she went down the hall towards the kitchen. Demelza shared a smile with Jeremy and set her hands on the keys of the spinet.

“Ready?” she asked him, waited for his affirmative nod, and then began the chosen song. Jeremy sang along, and Clowance returned to join them before the first chorus was halfway through. 

Demelza knew well enough the quality of her own singing, and she knew that with Jeremy and Clowance singing too, it was hardly a polished performance. Tuneful enough, and happy, but hardly anything to match up to the drawing rooms and ballrooms that Ross surely frequented in London. Jeremy sang lustily, his voice still the high voice of a boy. He was not musical, but he could carry a tune well enough to take part in singing such as this. Clowance’s voice was higher and sweeter, but she was less likely to stick to the right notes, occasionally wandering away from the melodies that Demelza played on the spinet.

Still, Ross seemed pleased enough with the music when he came back downstairs to join them. Clowance had chosen a carol, and then Jeremy another, and Ross joined them just as they were singing the final lines of the third song. He came to stand behind Demelza, one hand on her shoulder, and when she finished playing he bent over and kissed her neck, just below her ear. It made her flush. She felt as though thirteen years of marriage was only thirteen days. 

“You’re all loud enough to raise the dead,” he teased. 

“Then it’s as well there are no graveyards nearby,” said Demelza, less tartly than she might have done, softened by the way he touched her and the warmth in his voice. “Sit you down, Ross, or I’ll ask you to sing, and that would wake the whole county.” Ross never sang, and with good reason. Though he appreciated music, and had always encouraged Demelza’s musical aspirations, he was himself completely unable to carry a tune. Demelza could not remember when she had first discovered it – some time in the blissful first year of their marriage, she thought – but it still amused her, even now.

“I like when Papa sings,” Clowance giggled, clearly of the same opinion as her mother. “It’s funny.”

“Funny, am I?” Ross made a quick movement and snatched Clowance into his arms before she had time to run. Demelza watched, laughing at them both, as he tickled Clowance until she was shrieking her laughter and begging to be let go. Jeremy dodged out of the way of a flailing leg, and Demelza welcomed him into the shelter of her arms before he could get caught up in Ross’s attack. Ross turned Clowance nearly upside down before he was finished, her skirts swinging up to show her stockings, her hair flying dangerously near to the candles. 

“Be careful, Ross,” Demelza said, but she was laughing still, and she knew that the warning was unnecessary. Ross would never let harm come to his children if he could help it. They were both too precious to them, Jeremy and Clowance, after the deep wound of Julia’s death. Children were children, and accidents happened – scrapes and bruises, tumbles and falls – but Demelza knew that Ross was fully aware of how close Clowance might be at any moment to nearby open flames.

Ross released Clowance after a few moments more, setting her down gently on her feet and smoothing her hair away from her face. They were superficially unlike in appearance, Demelza’s husband and their daughter. Ross was dark, Clowance was fair. His eyes were brown, hers grey. His face, like the rest of him, was lean and bony, while Clowance still had a good deal of baby fat in the shape of her mouth and the curves of her limbs. But they shared some things, and Demelza saw the same smile on both of them as Ross sent Clowance back the spinet with a gentle swat to her behind.

“But he is funny, isn’t he, Mama?” Clowance confided in a loud whisper as she crowded close to Demelza. Her face was full of mischief, but Demelza chose to make no verbal answer, for when she glanced up at Ross she could see the same expression of mischief, and she knew better than to invite retaliation upon herself in his current mood. He was full of high spirits, and though Demelza was not ticklish, he had other ways of making her beg.

She kissed Clowance’s forehead. “Two more songs, my darling, and then it must be time for your supper. One choice for you, and one for Papa. What would you like?” Clowance deliberated for a moment, and then made her choice. Demelza nudged Jeremy back into his place, and then settled her fingers onto the keys of the spinet. She waited while Ross poured two glasses of wine and took a seat on the settee, near to the fire, and then she began. A moment later Jeremy and Clowance began to sing, just as loudly and gustily as before. Demelza knew the song well enough to glance up from her playing to see Ross. He was smiling, but when he caught her glance he rolled his eyes and nodded at Clowance, who was wandering off the note again. Demelza kept her face straight only with great effort, and returned her attention to the spinet.

Betsy Maria Martin came to call the children to their supper before they had finished singing, but Demelza shook her head to let her know that the children might stay a few minutes longer while they sang the last few lines of the carol. Then Demelza closed the spinet lid. Jeremy and Clowance gave her sorrowful looks that made them look like two peas in a pod, but Demelza only laughed at them.

“I know you’re both hungry,” she said. “Run along and have supper, and then you may hang your stockings before bed. And perhaps Papa will read you a story.”

“Perhaps not,” said Ross dryly, finishing his glass of wine. “You all seem to forget I’ve scarcely been home for six hours. Perhaps I’m too tired for stories tonight.” The children, Demelza thought, would not be able to see it – they did not know Ross as well as she did – but there was a particular glint in his eye and a mock-solemnity about his mouth that she knew of old. It was an expression he wore when he was teasing, but pretending to be serious, a vexing expression that Demelza had fallen for more than once before she had learned to recognise it. Ross would read a bedtime story for Jeremy and Clowance, and perhaps more than one, but he would make them ask him nicely first.

“Oh, please, Papa!” said Jeremy, turning a pleading look upon his father. “You’re ever so much better at the voices than Mama!”

“And you’ve been gone so _long_ ,” said Clowance, adding her voice to her brother’s, though she went a step further and skipped across the room to Ross. She rested her chubby hands on his knee. Demelza could not see her face, but she knew the angelic look that her daughter could sometimes produce. It was misleading, for Clowance could be anything but angelic at times, but Ross knew as much, so Demelza felt no need to warn him. “Please, Papa,” Clowance entreated. “Please won’t you read to us?”

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Jeremy chimed in. “Please, Papa?”

“I shall require payment, Miss Poldark,” Ross said, his face a picture of gravity. “What will you give me for a story?” Clowance leaned up on tiptoes and kissed Ross’s cheek. Demelza smiled fondly and rose to tidy away her sheet music. “A good price,” Ross said. “Run along, now. Your food will be getting cold. You too, Jeremy.” Clowance ran along as instructed, but Jeremy hesitated.

“What is it, Jeremy?” Demelza asked, putting her music away neatly in a drawer. “Is something the matter?”

“I don’t mean that you’re bad at reading stories,” Jeremy said, full of earnestness. “You’re not, Mama. You tell us wonderful stories. Only Papa does the _voices_ better.”

Demelza smiled at him and smoothed down his hair. “I know, my lover,” she said. “I’m not offended. Besides, I know it’s a special treat to have Papa to read to you. Now go to your supper, or Clowance will eat it all and leave none for you.” Jeremy grinned, happy once more, reassured by Demelza, and he traipsed from the room with his high spirits restored. 

“He’s still very sensitive,” Ross observed. Demelza couldn’t tell if he meant it as praise or censure. She shrugged her shoulders and tended to a candle that was guttering. Jeremy was as he was, and there was nothing either of them could do to change his character. School would no doubt harden him a little – Ross had expressed such a thought before – but Demelza would keep Jeremy at home for another year yet before he went to the grammar school in Truro. They had agreed upon that, she and Ross. Privately Demelza thought that Jeremy’s sensitive nature was too much an essential part of him to be changed by the rougher environment of Truro grammar school, but time would tell.

She was aware of Ross’s gaze upon her as she moved about the room, setting to right small things that had been disrupted. A cushion had been knocked askew, the corner of a rug lifted. Demelza put these things straight and then went to the window and pushed aside the curtain, peering out into the darkness for a moment.

“I think it will rain later,” she said idly. “It’s so mild yet. There’s primroses blooming in my garden.”

“I think you have grown thinner,” said Ross. Demelza let the curtain fall back into place and turned to him. He patted the settee beside him, a clear invitation that Demelza did not refuse. Ross put his arm around her when she settled next to him; she leaned against him, content. 

“I’m neither thinner nor fatter,” she told him, resting her head on his shoulder. “’Tis this dress. You always say I’m too thin when I wear this dress.”

“No, no, you are thinner,” Ross argued. His hand was at her hip, gentle and warm, and he tilted his head to rest against hers. Demelza felt she could stay like this for hours and not be tired of it, comfortable beside the fire with Ross’s arm around her. After the loudness of the children’s excitement, the parlour seemed particularly quiet now. Quiet and peaceful, their conversation and the crackling of the fire the only sounds to be heard. “I’m quite sure there’s less of you,” he added.

“I believe you like to think of me pining for you,” she teased. “As if I’m not used to it by now.”

“Are you used to it?”

“No,” Demelza had to admit. “I miss you always, Ross, you know that. I always find the house too empty without you, when you first go.” She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, and surreptitiously inhaled the scent of him. She did not pine for him – she never had the time to indulge such emotions – but she missed him nonetheless, and her happiness was never quite complete without him. “But I’m no thinner, as I’m sure you’ll discover,” she said archly.

“Oh, I shall make up my own mind later,” Ross assured her. “I’ll conduct a thorough inspection.” There was a familiar roughness to his voice. His hand slipped lower than her hip, and Demelza did not try to restrain her smile, though she knew he couldn’t see it. She had a suspicion that she would not be getting much sleep once they retired to bed. Mostly it was like that when he came back from a stretch in London, as if he wanted to rediscover her all over again. Demelza never minded. She would never take for granted the way Ross felt for her, emotionally or physically, for she knew what it was like to be in receipt of neither kind of affection from him.

They were silent for a while, a harmony existing between them that Demelza treasured. A few coals on the fire popped. Footsteps passed down the passage outside the parlour, but did not come within. From the kitchen came a complaining sound, quickly silenced. Demelza supposed that Clowance had tried to refuse some part of her supper, and been squashed by Jane. Clowance seemed to have entered a phase of being fussy with her food, something that Demelza had no patience with. Nor had any other member of the household any more patience for Clowance’s fussiness. The child had never known hunger, true hunger, but everyone else had, excepting only Jeremy. There were people in the district now who did not have enough to feed themselves, especially at this time of year. Fussiness over food in the midst of such deprivation was a kind of insult. It was a phase, and Clowance would get over it, but for now it was irksome.

“The kitten was a nice thought,” she said presently. She pulled away from him a little so she could reach for her wineglass. “I hope the innkeeper didn’t mind your persuasion.”

“Not in the slightest,” Ross assured her. His arm slipped from around her waist, but his hand settled on the knee nearest to him instead. “There are _some_ advantages to my notoriety.” Demelza glanced at him sidelong, saw his expression, and elbowed him gently in the stomach. Ross’s eyes were twinkling at her, and his lips were firmly pressed together as if to keep from smiling. Then his mirth faded a little. “I’d have rather brought you a puppy,” he said, carefully, as if admitting something that he was not sure she would like to hear. Demelza sighed and pushed her hair away from her face. “I don’t like thinking of you alone here without a dog,” Ross added, watching her closely.

“Alone!” Demelza said, forcing gaiety into her voice. “Hardly that, Ross. With two children –,”

“Children are such renowned watch dogs,” Ross murmured.

“And Gimlett,” Demelza went on, “not to mention Jane and Betsy Maria, and there’s all the farm hands outside.” She was alone in her room at night, of course, and sometimes she took walks alone, but the idea that she lacked protection without a dog was absurd, and she made that clear to him.

“Well, then, I’m absurd,” said Ross. “I shall not be moved from my position, Demelza. You need a dog here. If I were at home always, I shouldn’t insist. But will you think on it?”

Demelza sighed again and slumped against the back of the sofa, heedless of all her many years of forcing herself to good posture. She missed Garrick still. It was sentimental, to miss a dog so much, many months after it had died, but she must accept that she _was_ sentimental, for miss him she did. Garrick had been her only friend for so long, the most faithful of companions. He had seen her though good times and bad, and losing him, though she had known it must happen, had been a blow.

“I have thought about it, Ross,” she said quietly. “I know you’re right – or at least, I know you’ll go away easier knowing there’s a dog here. But Garrick…he was more than just a dog for me, for so long.” Ross put a hand up to her head, stroking her hair and then tucking it behind her ears.

“I don’t deny you the need to grieve, my love,” he said, with unusual gentleness in his voice. “And it has not been so long, really. Perhaps in the summer, when I come back for the harvest, we might find somebody with a suitable pup. The Bodrugans usually have regular litters, I believe, or we might ask Caroline if she knows of anything suitable. “

“The summer,” Demelza agreed, though it still hurt a little to decide it so firmly. “Yes, in the summer we might try and find a dog. Though I think, I believe, that I could never love it so dearly as I loved Garrick.”

“And I should not expect you to,” was Ross’s reassuring response. He kissed her again, soft and gentle and almost chaste, but full of the love and affection that they held for each other. Then Ross lifted his hand from her knee to the curve of her breast, and Demelza made a startled noise against his mouth.

“ _Ross_ ,” she said. “What’s put you in such a fine mood?”

“I missed my wife,” said Ross simply. He so rarely admitted his feelings, and hardly ever in such a plain manner, that for a moment Demelza could not breathe. Then, before she could answer or give him any physical response, the parlour door was flung open and in came Jeremy and Clowance, both laughing, their faces lit up with happiness. Ross took his hand from Demelza’s breast, and Demelza set aside her wine glass before it could be knocked from her hand by a careless limb. Just in time, for in a moment Clowance flung herself at her father, all flailing limbs and tangled hair, her foot knocking against Demelza’s shin in a most uncomfortable way.

“Papa, Papa, Mrs Gimlett smacked me,” Clowance complained. 

“Clowance didn’t want to eat her bread pudding,” Jeremy said, coming more sedately to sit on the floor at Demelza’s feet. 

“Don’t tell tales, Jeremy,” Demelza chided him gently. Jeremy shrugged his shoulders and leaned against her legs. He lifted his head to look at Clowance, who was glaring daggers at him. But she had thrown herself upon Ross’s mercy and now she was held fast. Ross took hold of Clowance’s chin and gently turned her head to face him. He met Demelza’s eyes for a moment, a glint of amusement twinkling at her, but then he made himself serious and spoke to Clowance.

“I’ll have no picky eaters in my house,” he told her. His voice was laced with disapproval, heavy enough to make Clowance squirm. “Mama wrote to me about it. I won’t have it, Clowance. Do you hear me?” Clowance nodded and tried to hide her face against Ross’s shirt. Ross wouldn’t let her hide, not until she had verbalised her understanding. Then he hugged her close and kissed her. “Good girl,” he said. “Now I think it’s time for stockings and bed.”

“And a story,” Jeremy reminded him. “You will tell us a story, won’t you, Papa?”

“Of course he will,” said Demelza. She nudged Jeremy away from her so she could rise and go to her work basket. She found the two stockings – an old pair of Ross’s, for even Jeremy’s stockings had seemed a little too miserly for the gifts she had made for them – and went back to the settee. Clowance scrambled off Ross’s lap and accepted one of the stockings, and Jeremy rose from the floor and took the other. They went to the fireplace, where Demelza had driven two pins into the wooden mantel to hold the stockings. Jeremy reached his pin with ease, and hung his stocking on the left hand side of the fire. But Clowance was too short, though she stretched up on tiptoe. 

“I can’t reach the mantel, Mama,” she complained, turning to Demelza for help. “Can you lift me?”

“Certainly she cannot,” said Ross, before Demelza could speak. “You’re too heavy for Mama to be carrying.” He rose and came to join them at the fire. Demelza laughed and went back to the settee, keeping out of the way as Ross hoisted Clowance up, hands under her armpits, so that she could carefully hang the stocking from the pin. Then he set her back on the floor and made exaggerated groans, until Clowance clasped his hand and solemnly said that if she had hurt him, she would kiss it better. Then Ross laughed and kissed her forehead.

“Mama will kiss it better later,” he assured her.

“Will you, Mama?” Clowance asked anxiously.

“Yes,” said Demelza. “But you didn’t hurt him, Clowance, so don’t fret. Papa is just teasing you.” Ross grinned at her, as merry as his children, and the sight of it made her feel as if her heart was swelling and might burst. She treasured such sights, for they were rare enough to merit treasuring. “Now it’s bedtime,” she said, though she was loathe to break up the gaiety. “Jeremy, run along and ask Mrs Gimlett for hot water for washing. Papa will come up when you’re both in bed.”

There were no audible complaints, though Jeremy heaved a sigh and Clowance pouted. But they kissed Demelza and left the parlour, and when Demelza went to stand in the doorway to listen, she heard Jeremy going to the kitchen as he had been told. She closed the parlour door to keep out the draughts. Ross was bent over, adding more coal to the fire. Demelza indulged herself in watching him for a moment, and then she went to the cabinet to pour herself a glass of port.

“I’m glad you used these stockings, and not the children’s,” Ross said, when he was finished with the fire irons. “I’m afraid some of the things I brought would not fit into Jeremy’s stocking, even though he’s grown.”

Demelza laughed and wandered back over to him. “I thought your case seemed too heavy,” she said. Not that she had tried to carry it herself, but she had seen John Gimlett’s face when he had taken the case from the errand boy. “You’ll spoil them,” she added, putting her glass down on the table. “And I dare say you’ll spoil me, too.”

“I dare say I would, if I meant to be so generous often,” Ross agreed. “Come the twenty-sixth, I shall be as miserly as you like. I’ll put on a stern face and smack the children roundly when they deserve it. And I’ll smack you too, whether you deserve it or not.” He caught Demelza in his arms, his hands spanning her waist, and she smiled up at him.

“Do you promise?” she asked. There was a thump from somewhere above them – Jeremy’s room, Demelza judged. It distracted her, and Ross was distracted too; he glanced up at the ceiling and raised his eyebrows. His mouth twisted into a wry grin, and Demelza lifted herself up to press a kiss to his lips. “Go on up,” she encouraged him. “We have all evening.” Once the children were in bed, they would have an hour or so before supper, and then the whole evening to themselves. Tomorrow Dwight and Caroline were coming, but nobody else. The Enyses were as close as family, and so Demelza felt no particular anxiety over the food, or the tidiness of the house, or the over-excitement that Jeremy and Clowance would no doubt display. 

Another thump from above. Demelza extricated herself from Ross’s arms and gestured at him.

“Go,” she ordered with a laugh. “They’ll not settle until you’re there.”

Ross grasped her shoulders, kissed her, and then pulled something from his pocket and pressed it into her hands. “For you,” he said, and was gone from the parlour before Demelza could even look at what he had given her. It was a jewellery box, small and with rounded edges, the leather cover polished to a shine. She did not recognise the jeweller’s name, but that was hardly a surprise, since it clearly came from London. 

“Ross,” she called after him, but there was no answer; he had already gone upstairs. A convenient escape, a deliberate choice to give the box to her when he had an excuse to leave her to open it. Demelza sat down on the settee before she opened the box. Within lay a necklace, a pendant on a red ribbon, set with a little cluster of pearls. “Oh, Ross,” she murmured. He was far too good to her. She touched the pearls with a finger, and then she closed the box, set it aside, and followed her husband from the room. She had an odd urge to be with him as he read their children a bedtime story, and there was no earthly reason to deny herself.


End file.
